


The Seychelles Caper

by agent85



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [26]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, FitzSimmons Seychelles Holiday, Fluff, Heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: When their perfect vacation is spoiled by the sudden appearance of Ian Quinn, FitzSimmons are ordered to lay low and play it safe. But when they discover that his interest is in far more than the sand and surf, they know they can't let him get away.
Can they go in on their own, blind and without backup, to steal whatever Quinn is keeping secret?
They'll certainly try.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [recoveringrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/gifts).



> Welcome to week twenty-eight of my [52 short stories in 52 weeks challenge](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/52)! This week's prompt: a story that ends at sunrise.
> 
> Also based on [a prompt](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/post/153324725197/recoveringrabbit-you-know-what-would-be) given by Rabbit approximately ten years ago. Was I completely faithful to the prompt, though? ;)

People, it seemed to Jemma, were amazingly unobservant. After all, how many times had they assumed that all of her interests remained in the four walls of her lab? No one, not even her own parents, dared to suspect that Jemma dreamed of heroic feats and fairytale weddings, though she did nothing to hide it. So when she told them she was heading off to a tropical getaway with Fitz, her mother wondered just how long it would take before Jemma was bored enough to insist on going back to the lab.

But as she sat on the seashore, listening to the waves and reveling in the sensation of Fitz's lips brushing over her neck, Jemma wondered just how long she could make this last.

There had been a part of her that worried. After all, how often did reality live up to fantasy? But when she turned to see the way the sun set on him, to see the way the light filtered through his hair and made him glow, her fears were finally silenced. She captured his lips greedily, discovering how much she wanted more of him at the same time she learned how easy it was to get it. This is what young Jemma had unable to conceive. Poets, and even scientists, had been able to describe the waves and the sunlight, but they couldn't quantify this.

Surely there were papers about kissing and poems about the feel of stubble under fingertips. But these were _his_ lips and _his_ whiskers, and he was a chemical mix of intelligence and bravery that the cosmos had never seen before. If she never could have imagined him, how could they?

She could, for example, have anticipated that he would break the kiss with a smile, but could she have predicted the way it would feel so natural that she would find herself doing the same? No, no one could. Just like she couldn't have predicted the way her smile would fade as her thumb grazed the apple of his cheek, and the sudden, inexplicable drop of her stomach as he stared back at her.

"Jemma?"

She was happy. Really, she was. But somehow, it was laced with a sadness that she didn't understand. She leaned in for another kiss, this one just a peck of his lips in a desperate hope that it would make him smile. The small quirk of one corner of his mouth was more than enough to satisfy her. She matched his smirk with her own.

"Come on," she said, standing up and offering him a hand. "It'll be dark soon."

He took her hand without argument, though he did wrap his arm around her waist to steady himself and steal another kiss in the process. She gave it away gladly, with a hand on his chest and a warmth in her heart. Was it always going to be like this? _Could_ it always be like this? She was too much of a scientist to believe in the fantasy of a perfect life with Fitz, and too much of a girl to consider any other reality. She didn't know if entwining her fingers with his was a distraction or solution, but when he brought her hands to his mouth to kiss them, she almost stopped caring. 

"So," Fitz said, "what's next? Dinner?"

The laughter that escaped her was reflected in the twinkle in his eye. "Yes," she affirmed, tightening her grip as she moved to stand beside him. "Dinner."

She walked away from the beach, tugging him behind her. Had it always been this easy? She could just take hold of his hand, and he'd go wherever she went. If she'd taken his hand the day he'd told her he was leaving her and the lab, it would all be different.

But she had him now and she'd never let go of him, not as they walked down a path through the warm glow of dusk, or as they ducked into the thatched-roof restaurant. The vibrant atmosphere that hummed in the place always took her breath away. They quickly made their way to what was becoming their usual corner, close enough to feel the pulse of life, but far enough away to ensure their privacy. This must have been some other couple's spot last week and the week before, but now it was theirs and it had menus waiting for them.

They'd tried to be reasonable at the beginning, but the problem was that when all-inclusive literally meant that they could have as much and as many dishes as they'd like, they found themselves ordering more and more. As it was day three, they found themselves ordering two appetizers, four entrées, and every dessert on the menu. It would all be different tomorrow, so why not? It seemed imprudent to waste a single opportunity. But just as Fitz took an adventurous stab into a delicacy that neither of them could pronounce, Jemma gasped.

Fitz flinched so violently that he almost threw his fork.

"Jemma?"

She ducked her head and found him staring back at her with wide eyes. How could it—?

"Fitz," she made herself say. "Don't look. Focus on me."

He obeyed, as much concern as confusion on his face. She reached out to grab his hand to comfort him and steady herself. Despite her efforts, she couldn't avoid the desperate need to pull Fitz behind her and shield him with her body.

After all, Ian Quinn had already shot one of her best friends. There was no way she'd let him get Fitz, too.

* * *

"Quinn? He's there with you?"

May's voice was distorted by static, but her concern was clear. Jemma tried to take comfort in it, but her hand kept shaking until Fitz wrapped it up in his. 

"Yeah, we both saw him," affirmed Fitz, averting his eyes when Jemma shot daggers at him. "It's definitely Quinn. Do we . . . will you come get us, or—?"

Or will they come catch Quinn once and for all? Even in the rush of adrenaline, Jemma could feel the anger simmering in her veins. She could almost see Daisy's blood, or Skye's, leaking out and staining everything.

"You'll have to lay low. We can't change the extraction protocol right now."

Jemma and Fitz exchanged a glance as a ruffling should came through the sat phone. Fitz furrowed his brow in concern.

"You mean," Jemma asked cautiously, "we'll just have to . . .?"

"We will come to pick you up as scheduled. You've had plenty of experience in the field; you'll be fine. Quinn hasn't shown up on our radar in a long time, so I doubt you'll be in any trouble. Just be smart. Keep your distance and don't draw attention to yourselves. If you really need us, call us."

Jemma sighed, not needing to see May's face to know the look in her eyes. "But don't need you," she said.

"We have some other priorities right now, but I'll make a few calls. Do what I can to help." Was there shouting? Jemma almost thought it sounded like Daisy. "You'll be fine."

The call ended without a goodbye, and Jemma squeezed Fitz's hand, trying to find the answer in his eyes as she ignored something sour in her stomach. Things had fallen apart so quickly.

"What's happening over there?"

Fitz shrugged. "Finding out would do more harm than good, I expect. Besides, we've got bigger problems."

Jemma nodded, swallowing. "Right. So, what's next? We can't switch to another hotel; they're all booked for months. But if we find out what Quinn is really doing here . . ."

The color drained from him. "What? May told us to lay low!"

"Yes," she said, avoiding his eyes, "but we can't avoid him if we don't know where he's going to be. Right?"

Jemma was still learning the contours of his face, still unsure if she truly understood how to predict them. It had been startling, right when she came back from her mission to Hydra, to realize how little she actually knew about him. Now, she thought she could see his struggle to avoid rolling his eyes.

"I guess we should find out if he's actually staying at our hotel. Just because this restaurant comes as part of the package doesn't mean that he's not here for some other reason. Luckily, we don't have to be anywhere near him to find out."

Both Fitz and Jemma had benefited from then-Skye's crash course into hacking, but Jemma had always preferred microscopes to keyboards. She tried not to hover over him as he worked, but managed to do it anyway, grazing one hand along one shoulder and resting her head on the other. He didn't seem to mind. And, since Quinn had already managed to throw a wrench into their previously perfect holiday, it certainly seemed fair.

"Whoa," he said, and his whole body jerked backward with the force of it. "This is not good."

"What is it?"

When she saw it for herself, she could hardly breathe. "He, _he owns the whole resort_?"

Fitz seemed to be as breathless as she was. "I really feel like we should have known that."

She sat up and put her head in her hands, and Fitz's arms were around her in a moment.

"Hey," he soothed, "I didn't mean it that way. How could we have known? He's been MIA for years. And look at it this way: you found him."

She couldn't help but smile as she leaned into him. "Still, after what he did to Daisy, and Seth, not to mention poor Professor Hall . . . I just don't know why he has to ruin things for us now."

Fitz shrugged. "Well," he said, "we won't let him."

When he unwrapped his arms and returned to his work, she returned to her previous position with a head on his shoulder and a hand going up and down his back. "Do you think we can find out what room he's staying in?"

"Already on it," he said, "and if I had a guess it would be . . . yup, the penthouse." He turned to look at her. "Pretty far away from us. And it looks like he has a private elevator."

"That's good," she sighed. She was just about to ask him exactly where the entrance to the elevator was when he stiffened.

"Hang on."

"What is it?"

"It just . . . there's something odd about . . ." He typed in a few commands, and a blueprint of the hotel popped up on the screen. Fitz pointed at the top floor. "Okay, here's the penthouse. That's the only room in his name. But there are instructions in here stating that he likes to have room service delivered . . ." He moved his finger to the bottom of the building. "Here." After a few keystrokes, Fitz ended up with enlarged schematics of the bottom floor. "This is all wrong, Jemma. With this design, the hotel would collapse. There's no actual foundation." He zoomed in on the left corner of the floor. "And the private elevator shaft extends below here, which means—"

"There's a basement?" She leaned in to get a better look.

"A secret basement," said Fitz. "And I can only imagine what kind of horrors await us there."

Jemma sat back, trying not to think of what Quinn could have done with two years in hiding. She hadn't so much as thought of him in so long, and should she have? Should she have continued to search for him after the fall of SHIELD? But no, Fitz was in a coma, the team was going dark, and Quinn couldn't be a priority.

"Can we find out what's in the basement?" She was just surprised at her words as Fitz was, but decided to stand by them. "We have to see what he's been up to."

Fitz's face was a picture of horror. "Again, May told us to lay low! And we don't know that for sure."

"But we can." She put a hand on Fitz's cheek to guide him back to her when he turned away. "Come on, Fitz. He's a dangerous man, and we have no idea what he's been up to! Can we really pass up an opportunity to find out?"

"Yes, we can!" Fitz turned back to the keyboard and typed furiously, eventually pulling up a flight itinerary and gesturing at it in triumph. "See? I've got his travel plans. He's leaving in the morning. If we go to bed right now, we can wake up tomorrow and just pretend that none of this ever happened."

"Ugh, Fitz!" He may have suppressed an eyeroll, but she had no desire to. "We're SHIELD agents, and scientists! We have a duty to—"

"Yeah, and we're on vacation," Fitz countered. "And May ordered us to stay as far away from him as possible, because he's dangerous and it's just us here, with no equipment or intel!"

"Well," she said, taking a breath, "we have some intel, don't we? And didn't you bring the new DWARF?"

He stood up and started pacing. "Only because it seemed better than a kite."

"Of course it is!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned to her, both hands on his hips. "We can't risk poking our nose into Quinn's business while he's here. He likes to shoot people, if you recall." He shook his head. "And once he leaves, that place will be locked up tighter than Fort Knox. We'll probably need his fingerprints or retinal patterns to get in the place, and they likely won't work if they know he's not in town."

"So," said Jemma, "we do it tonight and make sure Quinn is out of the way."

Fitz's hands moved to his head, massaging his temples. "We're not going to kill him, Jemma."

"Of course not," she replied, only slightly offended. "I have something completely different in mind."

He sighed, utterly defeated. "Which is?"

Jemma only smiled. "Let me show you."

* * *

Ideally, one does not concoct a sleeping agent when one is on a romantic getaway. Ideally, Jemma and Fitz would have finished off their dinner with a walk under the stars, or a visit to an open-air bar, or almost anything that didn't involve spy work. In fact, Jemma would have been perfectly content with a night in, lounging against Fitz as he read to her. Still, Jemma was pleased that, in this case at least, her education had prepared her for the unexpected. She also felt quite fortunate that in a place this remote, they still had access to the ingredients she needed. Fitz, however, only seemed confused as he tinkered with the DWARF, peering over at the tray delivered by room service.

"Lavender and honey?"

"They're the basic ingredients of most sleep aids," she explained.

Fitz frowned. "Won't the sugar keep him up?"

"Actually," she said, placing the tray on their little table, "it stabilizes the sugar levels so he won't wake up with hunger pains. And the lavender," she explained, "reduces cortisol stress on the body." She put both ingredients in to the thermos and mixed it with the white, frothy liquid. "Did you know that warm milk lowers adrenaline levels? With the honey and the lavender, it's enough to knock him out cold."

"Okay," said Fitz, still focused on the DWARF. "But why the apple vinegar?"

"One can never be too careful," she said, smashing one of her anxiety pills with a spoon and scooping it into the concoction. She'd stopped taking them after Bucharest, anyway. "My guess is that they usually don't get requests for apple vinegar, so I'm glad that they accommodated us."

"Of course they accommodated us. They accommodate everything. That's how they get away with charging so much." He put down the DWARF and folded his arms in satisfaction. "Okay, I've done my part. How do we get him to drink your sleeping potion?"

Jemma pursed her lips together. "I have a few ideas."

In truth, she had at least five. She had no idea if any of them would work, but she decided it was a detail that Fitz didn't need to know.

* * *

When they re-entered the restaurant, Jemma counted no less than five bodyguards protecting Quinn. That presented a problemm to say the least. It was doubtful that they could get them to drink her little concoction, even if she's made enough for them all. She tightened her grip around the thermos and tried not to panic.

"So," said Fitz, "what are we going to do about the guards?"

Jemma took a breath in and out. "Well, if we can get him to drink this, it won't matter, will it? They'll just take him up to bed."

Fitz furrowed his brow, then nodded. "Right. So, how do we get him to drink it?"

"Well, we buy him a drink. Except, it can't be us, because he knows our faces."

Just as the words escaped Jemma's lips, one of the guards hopped off a barstool and began to circle the room. In a moment, he'd be right on top of them. Panicking, it seemed to Jemma, was a very appropriate thing to do. 

"Fitz," she said, turning to him, "We have to do the thing!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What thing?"

"The thing where you kiss me so they don't recognize us!"

"Well, in that case."

Before she knew it, he put his hands on her waist and pushed her against the wall so hard that a delighted, "Oh!" escaped from the lips that were covered by his. She was not prepared for a kiss like this, filled with such passion and desire that she honestly had a hard time keeping up. She tried to figure out just what inspired this phenomenon and how it could possibly be replicated when he began stamping kisses along her neck up to her ear, and all thoughts flew away from her. When he finally detached from her, just as breathless as she was, she managed to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asked with a rather dramatic shrug, "I was nervous!"

Jemma had no reply for him, but as they regained composure and checked to see that the guard had passed, she could only think that Fitz ought to feel nervous more often.

"Right," she said, clearing her throat. "We both know I'm rubbish at convincing strangers to do things, so you'll have to do it."

Fitz looked her in the eye, and she found that she didn't have the power to look away.

"Me? You want me? I can't convince a girl to do anything."

Her fingers moved of their own volition, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt. "Fitz, you are currently on a tropical getaway with a girl. I think you're underestimating the power of your Scottish charm."

Was she imagining that there was a certain charge in the air, and that he was a little closer to her than usual?  The look in his eyes tempted her to say that he was right, that it was late and they could go to bed right now and forget all about Quinn. But Fitz spoke first.

"I'll try it," he said, but his eyes betrayed his doubt. The hand that was on her waist fell uselessly to his side. "But you know my track record when it comes to things like this."

He took the thermos out of her hand and was gone before she could say a word, though she didn't know that any would have come to her if she'd had the time to say them. His kiss was proof that he wanted to be here, wanted to be here _with her_ the way she wanted to be here with him. But he would say things like this on occasion, and she wasn't sure what he meant by them. If she did, she might have an idea as to what to do about it.

As it was, she could only find a table and attempt to wait for Fitz without causing suspicion. Instead of watching him, she observed the other people in the room. There was more than one retired couple, and she admired their ability to stay out this late. But why did all the men feel the need to wear Hawaiian shirts? She imagined Fitz sporting the same getup and had to stifle a laugh.

There were also young couples in the room, some who were likely here to escape their children, others who probably hadn't gotten that far yet. She even saw a few people who seemed unattached, each looking around the room like she was. When her eyes finally landed on Fitz, she was impressed with this confident smile, and he passed the thermos from one hand to another with such adorable nervousness that she didn't know how any woman could resist him.

Jemma was disappointed when she realized that there were too many people in the way for her to truly see Fitz's target. She saw the flip of long, blonde hair and not much else. She leaned over to get a look and was so intent on getting a better view that she hardly noticed when someone came to sit at her table. When he cleared his throat, she looked at him and almost gasped. There, sitting only three feet from her, was Ian Quinn himself. She wanted to throw something at him, to run away, to _do something_ , but she just stared back at him, utterly helpless.

Well," he said with a smile, "aren't you a sight for sore eyes."


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma blinked at him with wide eyes before she managed to squeak out an only slightly mangled, "Hi."

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he said, "but I saw you from across the room, and I just couldn't leave without introducing myself." He stuck out a hand with effortless charm. "I'm Ian Quinn. It's nice to meet you."

"Jenna," she said, trying not to shudder. It was the only thing she could think of, though in truth, careless people used the name so often that she actually did answer to it. It might have been a good choice if it weren't so close to the name that Ian Quinn actually knew.

"Jenna," he repeated, "that's a nice name. I don't run into Jennas that often, actually. It's nice to know you aren't a dying breed."

It wasn't until she saw the sparkle in his eyes that she realized what he was doing. It took all her composure not to gape at him.

Ian Quinn, CEO of Quinn Worldwide and almost-murderer of Daisy Johnson, was flirting with her. If he knew who she was, he gave no sign of it. How? She found herself looking around the room, and all she could think was that Fitz should be there. Why wasn't he back yet?

"So," said Quinn, shifting to get closer to her, "what brings a girl like you out to a paradise like this?"

Jemma tried not to gulp.

"I, um, I'm here with my boyfriend."

Should she have lied? She probably wouldn't have been able to get away with it. As it was, she was so nervous that she wouldn't be surprised if he refused to believe the truth. 

"Your boyfriend, huh?" He didn't bat an eye, but he did lean in even closer. "Well, what kind of a man would leave a pretty woman like you all alone?"

Jemma saw the unmistakable flicker in Quinn's eyes and found that her nerves quickly melted into irritation. Did he think that he could steal her away from Fitz by throwing her a few canned compliments? Or did he simply see her as some pretty young thing, so empty-headed and susceptible to suggestion that she could be convinced to stray so easily? She would say that she couldn't believe his audacity, but really, she could. She had seen him ruin lives.

Well, he wouldn't ruin hers and Fitz's, no matter what he tried.

"Sorry it took so long," said Fitz, sitting down and draping his arm around her shoulder. "It, uh, took me a while to find it." 

She turned to him and was surprised with a quick kiss, though she was grateful for it. It seemed very important to kiss him just then.

"I assume you must be the boyfriend," said Quinn, extending his hand. "Ian Quinn. I was just telling Jenna how lucky you are to have her."

Fitz took Quinn's hand and gave it a firm shake, though Jemma could see the way his hand trembled once it was free from Quinn's. She directed her gaze at Fitz so as not to shoot daggers and reveal herself. If she moved just a little closer and took his hand in hers, well, that was just what any girlfriend would do. 

"Ted Sallis," said Fitz, "nice to meet you. Are you enjoying your stay here?"

Quinn leaned back in his seat. "Oh, this is something of a second home for me. I'm sure you two are discovering everything this place has to offer."

Jemma could only think that they had been having lovely time before they were very rudely interrupted. She held Fitz's hand so fiercely that he looked down at their hands, then up at her with a silent question. 

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "yeah. This place is amazing. Especially when, um, when you have the right company."

Fitz's eyes filled with enough heat that she simply had to look away. The warmth followed her though, starting in her heart and ending in her cheeks.

"Looks like she agrees," said Quinn. "Have you two been dating long?"

"Well," she said, "we were . . . we were friends for a long time." She felt Fitz squeeze her shoulder, giving her strength. 

"Ah," said Quinn. "I've heard that story before. Congratulations." He smirked more than smiled as he drummed his fingers along the cool surface of the table. Jemma couldn't decide what felt so wrong about it until she realized how much she wanted his hands in restraints. "And what's that there," he said, nodding towards the thermos in Fitz's hand. "Something to celebrate?"

Fitz almost choked, and Jemma didn't do much better. But she did manage to keep her mouth shut long enough for Fitz to find an answer.

"Yeah," he said, "it's, um, we have this friend who wanted to make sure we had a good time. That we, that we were able to relax."

"That's a good friend," said Quinn, offering a full smile now. Somehow, it was worse. 

"Yeah," agreed Fitz as he coughed, leaning forward conspiratorially. "But, uh, just between us, our friend is a rather gifted chemist, if you know what I mean."

Fitz leaned back in his chair, and Jemma had no idea what Fitz was doing, but she found a certain pride in how he managed to seem so casual when he did it. If she didn't feel the trembling of his bad hand against her shoulder, she might have even believed him.

"That's a _very_ good friend," said Quinn.

"She is," agreed Fitz, "But you know, I think we're pretty relaxed on our own. Still, it seems a shame to waste it. With the kinds of things she can cook up in her lab, we always have a good time." He opened the lid to the thermos and smiled when he took a whiff of its contents. "Would, uh, maybe you could make use of it?" He offered the thermos to Quinn. "This one has just a hint of lavender."

Quinn's smile only widened. "Well, I could definitely use it, but I don't want to forget my manners." He nodded towards Jemma. "Ladies first."

"Oh, of course," said Fitz, "right you are. Would you like some, my darling?"

If he hadn't used such a ridiculous pet name for her, she might have just kept staring at him. As it was, she had enough presence of mind to take a small sip, hoping that it would at least ease any of Quinn's suspicions.

Fitz took a sip of his own, and Jemma was sure he actually winked at Quinn. "Help yourself," he offered. "There's plenty more where that came from."

Jemma handed the thermos to Quinn, who graciously accepted.

"Well," he said, "if you insist. In my line of work, you do whatever you can to blow off some steam."

Yes, thought Jemma, jetting all over the globe in search of new ways to profit off of others' suffering must be very stressful indeed. She found that she was holding her breath when Quinn took his first swig, and she only released it when she felt Fitz's arm tighten round her. 

"Huh," said Quinn, wiping off his lips with the back of his hand, "that's delicious. Have you ever thought about marketing this? There are some places where you wouldn't even have to go black market." 

When Jemma had no idea what to say, Fitz smiled. "Well, we uh, we try not to mix business with pleasure. After all, it's business that we're here to get away from."

Quinn nodded, taking another sip. "I can understand that. It's not often that they let me out of my cage, but I try to make the most of it."

He took another long drink, and Jemma thought his eyes were already starting to droop. Not a moment too soon.

"Are you relaxed yet?" she dared to ask.

"Mmm," said Quinn, "well, a man like me needs a little more than a special cocktail to be truly relaxed."

"Ah," interjected Fitz, "but you've never had a cocktail quite like this. I bet you'll find that your cares will have disappeared before you get to the bottom."

With Fitz's encouragement, Quinn took another sip, then another, until he'd drained the thermos dry. Once he was done, his head careened towards the table so fast that Jemma almost wasn't able to cushion the blow. She looked towards Fitz, one hand trapped between the table and a sleeping Quinn, the other still entwined with Fitz's.

"What about the guards?" she asked. She was surprised that they hadn't swarmed on her already, but they were nowhere to be seen. Fitz merely shook his head at her.

"I couldn't get anyone to buy a mysterious drink for a stranger, but I did find a girl who wanted to flirt with one of the guards. I let her distract him, and then I hacked into the security system and tripped the downstairs alarm. That's what took me so long. They had to leave lover boy to hold the fort." Fitz shrugged, looking around as if to double check. "We should be okay, but we'll have to do something about him." He nodded towards Quinn, then blinked and looked back at her.

"By the way," he said raising an eyebrow, "that concoction tasted oddly familiar. Kind of reminded me of that special tea you made for me to help me focus when I was trying to finish up the mouse hole prototype."

Jemma sat back and rolled her eyes, so relieved at both their unexpected victory and Fitz's apparent calm to be concerned about the accusation in Fitz's tone. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Fitz scoffed. "I'm sure you _do_ know! Because I'm pretty sure that you drugged me so I couldn't complete the project on time!"

Jemma only shook her head at him. "Fitz. You had the flu, and as you well know, you refused to take care of yourself! What was I supposed to do? You were making zero progress, and you were contaminating all of my samples. Really, it was for the greater good, just like this is."

She looked down at Quinn and thought perhaps too much about the greater good, or at least, she thought too much about it all at once. When Fitz cleared his throat, she was glad for the distraction.

"Are you okay?"

She took her hand out from under Quinn's cheek and shot Fitz a worried glance. "I just—I don't like him, Fitz."

Fitz's mouth drew into a tight line as he took a look at Quinn himself. "Well, I don't like him, either."

"Of course you don't; it's just that—" She pursed her lips and told herself to take a breath. "Never mind. What's important is that now we have to get Quinn into bed, figure out how to get down to his secret lab, and do as much as we can before anybody realizes that we're trying to foil whatever nefarious plot he's managed to cook up."

Fitz's expression softened as he nodded in agreement.

"Okay, well, we'll just have to carry him out. You take the feet; I'll take the hands."

Jemma did as ordered, very grateful that the other patrons in the restaurant seemed too wrapped up in themselves to pay attention to what she and Fitz were doing. Despite everything, she couldn't help but feel a little morbid curiosity as she looked down at Quinn's sleeping face.

Was it really drugging a man if that man knew there were drugs in his drink?

It was hard to tell.

* * *

"I still can't believe that he didn't recognize us at all," Fitz said, groaning under Quinn's weight. Jemma wasn't doing much better herself, as it was especially difficult to carry an unconscious man out of the restaurant, down the walk, and into the hotel when she had to look natural doing it. In the end, she concluded that lugging around someone who appeared blackout drunk was not unusual in these parts. 

"Well, you have gained a little muscle since he last saw you," she said, almost losing grip of Quinn's right foot as they rounded a corner. "And your facial hair makes a big difference. What I'm confused about is why he didn't recognize _me_."

Fitz caught her gaze and quickly looked away. "You, um, you look different, too." He pretended to look behind her to watch where she was going, but she caught the way his eyes went up and down her body. "Besides, I don't think he's the kind of person who remembers people. People like us, at least."

They came to a stop when they finally, finally reached the entrance to Quinn's elevator, carefully propping the sleeping Quinn against the wall. Fitz took his backpack off and retrieved the DWARF while Simmons propped Quinn's eyes open. It was a lot more difficult than she thought.

With a few taps on his tri-fold tablet, Fitz directed the DWARF to come eye level with Quinn.

"Say cheese."

A blue light flashed over Quinn's face until Fitz seemed satisfied. "Okay," he said, "let's see if it works."

Fitz pressed the up button on the elevator, maneuvering the DWARF towards the screen, where it projected a hologram of Quinn's eyes. After a flash of green, and the elevator opened. Fitz stuck a leg in the elevator to keep the doors open, then helped Jemma drag him in.

"Well," he said, "at least that worked."

* * *

"How long do you think he'll be out?"

Jemma looked over her shoulder towards the bedroom, where Quinn was peacefully asleep. 

"Well, not as long as he should have since you and I both had some ourselves," she eyed Fitz warily, "but he should be out until at least morning. The drugs, combined with his natural sleep cycle, should be quite potent."

"Well," Fitz said, stifling a yawn, "I guess we know first hand how powerful the drugs can be. The only thing keeping us awake at this point is adrenaline."

Jemma nodded in agreement, glancing at the clock above Quinn's full kitchen and noticing that it was already half past two. "Well, we won't have another chance to get into his facility, besides," she said as they arrived at the elevator, "we'll have plenty of adrenaline if things keep going the way they've been going."

Fitz hummed in agreement as he pressed the button to call the elevator, and Jemma took a second glance around as they waited. It really was a luxurious apartment, and it barely looked lived in. She couldn't imagine how many housekeepers it took to keep the place that immaculate.

As soon as they were in the elevator, Fitz emptied out the backpack and got the DWARF ready. The moment they arrived at the secret floor, Jemma held the doors opened so Fitz could send the DWARF out ahead of them.

"You know," she said, watching the little drone blink out of the visible light spectrum, "we haven't named this one yet."

Fitz didn't bother to look up from his controls. "Yeah, but that's because it's not finished yet. Besides, we've run out of dwarf names."

"Well," she countered, "we never thought we'd have more than eight. Should we name it Charming, then? We have a Snow."

"Or we could just start with a different set," he offered, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Disney's not the only one who's named them. There's that, uh, the Amanda Bynes . . ." He paused, arching an eyebrow at Jemma's chortle. "Hey now," he admonished, "you don't get to drag me into a movie and then make fun of me for remembering it."

Her smile settled into an affectionate smirk. "I just thought . . ." She shook her head. "What are their names?"

Fitz looked down at his trifold tablet and motioned for them to go left. "Um, let's see . . . Terrence, Gurkin, Spanky . . . what?"

"Fitz," she said, "we're not naming it _Spanky_."

He straightened into a perfect picture of offense. "I'm just listing the names, Jemma."

"Well, I don't understand why you're using the names from _Sydney White_ when you could use the ones from _Snow White and the Hunstman_."

His brow furrowed. "I've never seen that movie."

"Of course you have," she said, waving it off, "we saw it together. After we went to that Hungarian place."

Fitz once again buried his head into his tablet, this time walking off without warning. "That wasn't me," he said gruffly. "That was Milton."

And then it came back to her: staring at the ceiling while Milton tried to thrill her with the most banal moments in Hungarian history, crying out when he somehow spilled goulash on her from the other side of the table, inching away from him when he leaned in for a sloppy kiss. 

"Oh," she finally said. "I was wondering why I felt sick."

Fitz didn't look up at her when he shrugged. "You didn't have to watch him kiss you."

"Oh, come on!" She grabbed his arm to force his gaze to meet hers, with a thousand arguments on the top of her tongue. She only dated Milton because he wouldn't leave her alone, she didn't enjoy a moment of it, and Fitz had no right to be jealous of something that only lasted a week. But her ire cooled the moment she realized that he was mere inches from her, that his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, that the contours of his face were absolutely spellbinding. Every witty retort slipped away from her as she found herself saying, "I like the name Terrance. Just, not for a DWARF."  

Fitz blinked. "Not for a DWARF? For what, then?"

And it was that moment that Jemma decided it prudent to take the tablet from his hands and monitor the data herself. "I also like Archie. And Tabitha, for a girl."

She felt him stop cold behind her, and she kept walking until she heard the pounding of his footsteps catching up to her. 

"I um," he said, "I never thought of girl's names." When her eyes flicked up to him, he was wincing. "Just, don't tell my mum, alright? She'd go into a lecture about Hedy Lamarr, and I'll never hear the end of it." 

"Right," she said, motioning him around a cleared corner, "because your mum and I talk all the time."

"Well," he said, "you'll see her at Christmas, at least. She's already got it all planned."

Jemma stopped in her tracks, causing Fitz to shoot her a questioning glance.

"You've already planned Christmas?"

He cocked his head at her for a moment before her meaning seemed to sink in. "Oh! No, of course not, I would never . . ." He walked forward so quickly that she almost had to sprint to keep up with him. "I mean, not without talking to you first. She's just . . . she gets excited, you know. She gets ahead of herself sometimes."

Jemma eyed him from head to toe. "Uh huh."

She watched as Fitz gulped. "Maybe you _should_ call her, just to get on the same page. So she doesn't get her hopes up if we . . ."

She had to put out a hand to stop him from going around a blind corner, since the DWARF picked up something that might have been movement.

"If we what?" she whispered.

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. "If we go to your parents' instead," he said, as if it were the only obvious answer. Jemma found herself sighing in relief, though something curious bubbled inside her. She looked back at the tablet and let Fitz know that it was all clear.

"I think we're getting close to whatever it is we're looking for," she said, feeling her forehead crinkle. "Only thing is that if the guards all came down here, where are they?"

Fitz looked behind them, then shrugged. "It took us a while to drag Quinn up to his flat. Maybe they're out looking for him."

Jemma was just about to concede the point when she saw something out of the corner of her eye and realized that it was the DWARF, appearing and disappearing as it spun out of control. Before she could ask Fitz what was wrong, the DWARF flung itself at the wall and showered the hallway in sparks.

"Terrance!"

Fitz ran like he was chasing after a wayward baby carriage, but it was too late. She stooped next to him, slipping a hand behind his collar to soothe him as he cradled what was left of the DWARF in his hands.

"What happened?"

Fitz only shook his head, stupefied. "I—I don't know. It shouldn't have . . . just let me . . ." He almost knocked her over trying to get the tablet, but she bit back any protestations when she saw how desperately he was trying to make sense of the readings. "It wouldn't have just failed like that," he said. "It was hit by something."

Jemma frowned. "If something hit it, we would have seen something. It was right in front of us."

"Unless there was something we didn't see," Fitz pointed out, looking around. "But I would have thought that Terrance would see it, at least."

"We're not naming him Terra—"

She was interrupted by Fitz's yelp, and when she followed his eyes, she found the small piece of DWARF that was hovering in midair. Fitz immediately stood up, tablet in one hand and smashed DWARF in the other, putting his body between her and the floating piece of metal. 

"Jemma," he whispered, "do we believe in invisible men?"

Jemma was about to point out the flaws in HG Wells' original concept, but stopped short when the metal fell harmlessly to the ground. Jemma ducked around him to pick it up—his hands were full, after all—and found that she almost fell over.

"Fitz? I feel like I'm—"

Really, she felt like she was going to vomit, but the nausea came on so suddenly that she could barely form the words. She blinked once, twice, and felt that the hallway was spinning.

Or was _she_?

"Jemma!"

 Fitz lunged for her, then stumbled, slamming his hands over his ears. "What's happening?"

She didn't answer, too afraid to open her mouth lest she let out more than words, but soon she didn't have to. As soon as Fitz reached her, struggling so hard against whatever it was that he actually managed to knock her backward, the floor disappeared. Or, it seemed to. They were falling, anyway.

She reached out for Fitz's shirt and held on tight until they both crashed into something soft. When she scrambled off and tried to stand, she almost tripped over something—boots. Boots that, she quickly realized, were still being worn. She had to clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of surprise and found comfort only when Fitz's hand drew around her waist.

"Well," he said, "I think we found the guards."

Jemma looked over the two men and couldn't help but agree, flooded with relief when she realized they'd been knocked unconscious. Did they fall, too? Jemma looked upward and was surprised to find cement above them. She stood there, completely bewildered until it suddenly clicked.

"Fitz," she said, "why are we on the ceiling?"


	3. Chapter 3

It took them a while to get their bearings, though Jemma seemed to recover more quickly. Fitz was still leaning against her as she scanned the hallway and found no answers. 

"I don't see any kind of device," she said. Fitz straightened beside her.

"A DWARF would come in useful right now."

She eyed him thoughtfully. "We'll make a new one." She dared to take a step forward, then another. "A better one."

"It was already top of the line," lamented Fitz. "How could it be better?"

She almost stopped right there, about to tell him it was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard him say when she realized that he was probably still feeling a little sick, and let it go.

"Well," she offered, "I'll actually get to help this time."

Fitz's protest died on his lips when she turned to let him see her smile. 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he teased, "that DWARF was perfectly fine before you took the controls. Maybe we should suspend your privileges."

Jemma almost elbowed him in the ribs when she was hit with another wave of nausea, and they were both slammed into the wall.  

"What," said Jemma, "is happening?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, obviously the force of gravity is being disrup—"

"I know gravity is being disrupted, Fitz!" She huffed out her indignation. "What we don't know is how. What could Quinn be possibly working on that—"

But she knew exactly what he'd been working on. Why hadn't she thought of it before? It came to the tip of her tongue just as Fitz blurted it out.

"Gravitonium!"

She looked at him with wide eyes and found that he was doing the same back at her.

"We know that Garrett stole the gravitonium when he looted the Fridge," she said. "But how would—"

"Well, Quinn was helping him sell the Cybertek soldiers, so what if-"

"He was given the gravitonium as payment?" She cocked her head to the side. "Or he could have just taken it."

"Either way," said Fitz, "he had enough gravitonium to level a building." Fitz cast his eyes upward, or was it sideways? "I don't like the idea of being at the bottom of one just now."

Jemma pursed her lips and thought. There was no way to know what Quinn had managed to do with the gravitonium since they saw him last, but he obviously had avoided leveling this building so far. Would he do it if he needed to? If he left Seth and Donnie to die, there was no telling what he was capable of. 

Her heart sank, and she took a step back, remembering the deadness in Seth's eyes when she couldn't save him. Somehow, she had roped Fitz into doing this—why? Right now, she could be tucked safely in bed, surrounded by Fitz's arms and the certainty that nothing could go wrong. And yet, here they were. She had insisted on it.

What if her mother had been right all along?

"What we need," said Fitz, "is a way to predict what gravity is doing. Luckily for us, I have one." He turned to her, clearly pleased with himself. "Except, it's not luck. It's-"

"Genius, I know." She rolled her eyes at him, but managed to smile in spite of herself. How could he do that? "Go on," she commanded. "Show me."

She was sure that he actually waggled his eyebrows at her before he began disassembling the DWARF, pulling off a small bit of metal and throwing it out in front of them. It slammed to what was now their ceiling.

Jemma stared at Fitz, then blinked, then cocked her head.

"The definition of genius is taking the complex and making it simple," he said with a shrug.

She shook her head and chuckled at him. "I can't believe you quoted Einstein at me."

He smirked at her then, and she loved it. She loved his pleased smile, and his brazen one, and the one that was only a flicker when his eyes were glued to the floor. But his smirk had this strange way of making her feel like things would turn out the way they should. So when he offered his hand, she took it, and together they leapt, rather than fell, into the next twist of gravity. Jemma learned very quickly that the twists were much more fun when she saw them coming.

"What are we going to do when we find the gravitonium?" she asked. "How do we contain it?"

But she had the answer before she finished the question—the box! The gravitonium had originally been held in a glass box specifically designed to contain it, and they quickly agreed that Quinn would be a fool to dispose of it. So before they turned the next corner, they had their plan: find the box, contain the gravitonium, call May. The plan was simplicity itself.

It was strange, though, how frequently they had to change directions. It was more like they were traveling through little pockets of gravitational shift, and she would have given anything for something as simple as a jarful of beads so she could map them all out. Was there a pattern? It was impossible to tell one jump at a time. Somehow, though, they got to the door of what was probably Quinn's lab. Fitz had to stoop down to pull the door open, then stood back as the door came crashing down in its hinge. She heard him curse under his breath. So much for stealth.

"Who's there?"

Jemma's blood turned to ice, finding that Fitz's hand around her wrist didn't help much. She reached for him anyway, threading her fingers through his and pulling him closer. She knew that voice. It was impossible, wasn't it? But that voice had haunted her as she dozed over Fitz's half-transcribed notes, and she'd know it anywhere. Even if it was cracked and ragged. Even if it came from someone long dead.

"Professor Hall?"

It was Fitz who said it first, his voice choking over the name. His grip tightened on her hand, and she was thankful for it. 

"Who's there?"

Fitz turned to her with questioning eyes, and she could only think to put a finger over her lips. He nodded in agreement. A living, breathing Hall would, at this point, have been a prisoner for years. Would there be surveillance? Armed guards? Booby traps? The prospect made Jemma sick. If Bobbi were here, it would be no problem, but it was just her and Fitz, armed with their combined knowledge and what amounted to a handful of metal scraps. It could be enough, but they'd have to be careful.

Fitz took a deep breath and moved forward, pulling her gently behind. They had to walk up the open door like a ramp, then step down onto what was actually a wall. Now that they were out of the hallway and in an actual room, it was very disorienting. There were fire sprinklers to their left, lab benches hanging to the right, and for some reason, all four sides of the room were covered in bulletproof glass. In the middle, she saw an assortment of lab equipment and books, along with other objects that floated weightless in midair. It felt as if they'd stepped into a space station. Could she breathe?

She made herself take a breath in and out, wondering what May, or Bobbi, or even Daisy would do. If Quinn could use to gravitonium to manipulate gravity the way they'd already seen from him, couldn't any object be turned into a weapon? There was no they could shield themselves from it all.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" she heard herself whisper, and she swore she could feel Fitz's pulse through his fingertips.

"Do . . . do you see the box?"

The box! How could she forget? That was the true solution to all of this. She scanned the floating debris, but couldn't find it. She was sure that it couldn't be far—after all, Quinn was a scientist, too. And what scientist worth his salt would create an experiment without the proper safety procedures in place? 

She caught Fitz's glance and shook her head, earning his shrug in return. Together, they moved forward, stepping cautiously, until they got a clearer view of what was actually going on. The objects weren't actually floating in random patterns, like she'd originally thought; they were making lazy circles to create some kind of a ball. When a lab coat moved haphazardly out of the way, she saw exactly what was cocooned inside: Professor Hall himself. 

It had to be a trick, or some kind of trap. Why would Quinn just leave him there?

But before she could think of an answer, Hall's eyes snapped open, with a fire behind them that took the air from her lungs.

"FitzSimmons?"

That was when everything fell—not down, but right on top of them. Jemma ducked out of the way, bringing Fitz with her, and together they tried to dodge the worst of it. Fitz let out a yelp of pain, and when she turned to look, the corner of a microscope banged into her shoulder. She drew a sharp breath through her teeth and tried to keep her head. Just as she thought she was clear, she slipped and fell to the ground, bringing Fitz with her. 

"Jemma?"

His hands were combing through her hair, and she had no right to them. Her curiosity had gotten them in this mess, and here they were, sprawled out on the wall-turned-floor of a secret underground lab, all while a variety of scientific instruments marched above them. 

Fitz opened his mouth to say something when she saw something move behind him, and he turned to see what made her gasp. He saw it soon enough: the dark, silvery mass that was soon hovering behind the floating debris. 

It was much bigger than the glob of gravitonium they'd seen before, though that didn't make sense. Quinn was supposed to have collected the lot of it. But as her eyes searched the room for any sign of Professor Hall, she noticed a silver hand protruding from the mass above her, then a foot, until it formed into the professor himself. His dark blue clothes were a stark contrast to the silver of the gravitonium, which collected around his hands, feet, and waist. It closed around his throat too, billowing out behind him. But it was the cold hunger in his eyes that made her shudder at the sight of him, and she felt Fitz doing the same.

This was not the man they knew.

"He brought you," Hall said, eyes sweeping over her and Fitz. "A surprise." He cocked his head to the right, then the left, and Jemma wondered if he was deciding just what they were. "You can help me."

Jemma swallowed, finding her mouth bone dry. 

"H-help you?" Fitz coughed. "With what?"

"Oh," Hall said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smirk, "so many things."

He reached out his hands, and containers broke free from the debris and hovered around them. 

"You left me," he said, "but the darkness didn't."

She gulped when she saw a glass container full of a blue liquid she couldn't identify—possibly lethal and completely under his control. A stirring rod smashed against the container and shattered the glass, causing the liquid to leak out. It was close enough for her to know that it smelled like alcohol. Would it blind them, or—

"It taught me things," Hall continued, "so I wonder: what can I learn from you?" 

She could barely breathe, finding that she could only stare up at this man—was he still a man?—who floated above them. A few years ago, he taught them science puns sparkling eyes. Now, she was sure he wanted nothing more than to rip out her brain and wring it dry.

So she didn't hear Fitz the first time he told her to run. Or the second. It wasn't until he actually grabbed her hand and pulled her with him that she understood. She pushed herself off the ground and let go of him when a balance came flying towards her face. She had to bat the beakers, pipets, and forceps away, but she managed to keep up with him until her feet turned to lead, then her legs, then the rest of her. She crashed to the floor, too heavy to move. Too heavy to scream.

"Jemma!"

She wanted to tell him to keep going, to be safe, but even the movement of her mouth was impossible. She might as well have been glued to the floor, might as well have been sinking into it. Maybe she would.

"Quinn tried that, too."

She couldn't see Hall, but she could feel him coming up behind her. The crushing weight of gravity seemed to ease as he got closer, until she could blink and breathe and look around for Fitz. Where was he? 

"He's better now," said Hall. "He knows the consequences of disobedience. The guards do, too. I let them leave and they come right back to me. Everything does."

It was only when Jemma couldn't find Fitz that she realized why—the glass walls were mirroring everything inside them. When she looked for two Fitzes (the man and the reflection), she found him, scurrying out the door to safety. 

But why was the room lined with glass?

It was thick, but not thick enough that she couldn't see the concrete behind it. They were still underground, after all. What use would Quinn have for a glass room down here? Unless—

"Fitz," she groaned, struggling to take a breath, "this _is_ the box."

She wasn't sure how, but it was the only thing that made sense. Why, after all, was Hall still down here? A person with powers like his could rule the Seychelles and more. The tourism industry continued to thrive because no one knew they had a monster in their basement, and if he couldn't leave, there was a way for them to escape. 

"I found the controls!"

She had to repeat the words twice before she understood what Fitz was saying. 

"Jemma, they're broken. It's at thirty-six percent capacity."

She squinted her eyes at Hall. Was that the reason for the gravity shifts in the corridor? If Fitz could fix it, then—what was the room designed to do?

"I died for you," said Hall. "I remember that." He squatted down until his face was just above hers, looking down at her quizzically. "Don't you think you owe me?"

When he stood up, a shiver went through her whole body, but it took her a second to realize that she _could_ shiver. She could raise herself up by her elbows, too. 

"Fitz?"

"I'm getting close," he yelled back. "There's something else here, though. I don't know what it does. But I'm almost there, Jemma."

Could she lift her foot? She could. Clearly, Hall could only be focused at so much at a time, and now he was musing over her usefulness.

"Did Quinn tell you about my dendrotoxin?"

Hall's eyes snapped to her, and she could lift herself a little higher.

"I created it. Quinn never would have been able to make half his toys if he hadn't stolen my work."

It was Fitz's work, too, but that was beside the point. She needed to draw focus away from Fitz, and away from the present entirely. 

"Did you know that I went to an alien planet?" She spoke the words and winced, suddenly realizing why the extra gravity felt so familiar. "Don't you want to know what I learned there?"

Too much, she had learned too much. Wasn't that why she brought Fitz here in the first place? Everything out there broke; everything else faded away. Hope, love, and friendly professors were as vulnerable and fleeting as the lives of the friends she'd lost.

This one wasn't even looking at her now, as the floating equipment sagged and drifted away. His glazed-over eyes were fixed at some point in the distance, and if Hall had been prone to getting lost in his own thoughts before, where was he now?

"Jemma, I've got it! I'm coming after you."

"No!"

In one, swift movement, she landed a swift kick to his crotch and went running. It took him a second to realize what she'd done, another to be swallowed in pain, and by the time he came to his senses, Jemma was safely through the door. Fitz closed it behind her and grabbed her by the waist.

"This is going to hurt."

When he slammed his hand down on the button, they slammed into the wall. Fitz ended up on her side and quickly scrambled off. She groaned and rubbed at her muscles, half certain that he'd broken her ribs, completely grateful that he'd been smart enough to figure it out. When he offered her a hand up and it turned out that her ribs weren't broken after all, the gratitude swelled in her heart until there was no room for anything else. She wrapped an arm around his waist and buried herself in him and best she could. When his arms enveloped her, she surprised herself by crying.

One thing she loved about him, that she had always loved about him, was the way he let her cry. He never tried to quiet her, and he didn't now. He was too busy with tears of his own. She held him tighter, wondering just how worried he'd been. But in the end, it was her thumbs wiping tears from his cheeks, it was his lips brushing hers, it was two people who walked through the storm and found a safe place in each other. 

When she was ready to see the aftermath of what they'd done, she was surprised to find that the room she'd just left was now bare concrete. Fitz nodded at her confusion and pointed towards a small glass box in the center of the room, glowing yellow at each corner.

"I guess that's what it does," he said.

She walked towards the box and stooped down to take a look, utterly blown away. Inside the box, she saw everything the way it had been before—only a fraction of the size. When she looked up at Fitz, he merely shrugged. 

"All I know was that the problem was the plumbing." Fitz pointed at the floor—the true floor—indicating the small openings for pipes. Above, she saw opening for the sprinklers. "Quinn must have decided to make this a fully-functional lab, which meant that it couldn't be fully contained. Not too much damage done, though."

Fitz picked up the box and tucked it under his arm, allowing Jemma to lead the way. It was surprising how short and painless it was to get back to the elevator when gravity remained the same throughout. Jemma found, however, that she did feel a little bad for the knocked-out guards, who had taken quite a tumble when the gravitational force was set right.

It was the second pair of guards that concerned her.

"Did we just miss these before?" she asked.

"They could have been on the ceiling like the first two were," said Fitz as he pressed the elevator button. Luckily for them, no retinal scan was required for the journey back up. "We could have walked right under them."

"Could we have?"

Technically they could have, but it didn't feel right. Why had the first pair of guards been knocked out to begin with? And why weren't there more of them?

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby, she was still puzzled. She had bigger problems, though. Mainly, that they were in the middle of a hotel lobby owned by Quinn, holding a lab they had stolen from Quinn, all while Quinn himself lay drugged upstairs. As triumphant as they were, things could go south quickly.

"So," she said, "what next? Call May?"

Fitz drew his lips into a tight line and nodded. "That was part of the plan, right?" Together, they walked towards the main elevator that would take them up to their room. As they waited for the doors to open, Fitz smiled a little too broadly.

"What?"

He shook his head as the door dinged open, and they walked in. "Technically," he said, "everything went according to plan. On the op we created and carried out ourselves."

She laughed, barely able to believe it herself. So much had happened in the last few hours that she hardly knew what to make of it.

"We'll probably have to stay in our room, though. Really lay low."

Jemma saw his frown, but she wouldn't let herself mirror it.

"But we'll be together," she said. "And alone. That's still a proper holiday." 

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her. "We'll have Professor Hall watching our every move."

"Not if we put him in the closet," she offered.

He smiled at that, and she allowed herself a serene sort of victory when they reached their floor and Fitz offered her his arm. She leaned against him and let him lead her, gasping when he stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is it?"

Fitz looked at her, then down the hallway, then back. He leaned in conspiratorially.

"It's her!"

"Who?"

" _Her_! The girl from the restaurant. Who seduced the guard. She's in front of our door."

Alarmed, Jemma looked for herself and, there enough, there she was. But unlike Fitz, Jemma found no cause for alarm.

"Fitz," she scolded, "Really? You had an entire conversation with her."

Fitz furrowed his brow, seemingly at a loss. Jemma simply shook her head at him and approached their guest.

"Agent Hill," she greeted, "what brings you to the Seychelles?"

Maria Hill stood, removed her wig, and shook the hand Jemma offered. "If you were my agents, I'd have to ask you what took you so long."

Fitz came up behind her, held up the miniaturized lab, and scowled. "It was a little more complicated than we thought. You know, with the gravity-controlling maniac, and everything."

Hill met his scowl with a smirk. "To answer your original question, Agent Simmons, I was in the neighborhood, and May called in a favor."

Ah.

"You're responsible for the missing guards," she concluded.

Hill smiled. "I had to do something while I was waiting. Got Quinn, too. Now, if you wouldn't mind handing over the graviton . . . man, I'll bring it back to her. Phil will want to take a look, and you probably want to get back to your vacation."

Fitz handed over the box without argument, and Hill gave them a smile before heading off to the elevator.

"I'll talk to Phil," she called over her shoulder, "see if you can't get some extra days off to compensate for hours on duty."

She was gone before they could thank her, and Jemma and Fitz stood in front of their door, suddenly unsure what to do with themselves.

"We've been up all night," she said. "We should probably get some rest."

Fitz considered this for a moment. "I don't actually feel that tired, do you?"

Jemma felt him take her hand, and was surprised to discover that she wasn't tired at all.

* * *

Jemma loved the beach in the afternoon, and in the evening, but it there was something about the ocean in the early morning, when it was just the two of them. The chilly air was no match for the warmth of his embrace, and when she captured his lips again, again, and again. Was there anything this perfect? She wanted to say no. She wanted to say that this was just the start.

"What is it?" he asked as she lay on his chest. She was wrapped up in him, listening to the waves and his heartbeat with closed eyes.

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

She almost told him that nothing was wrong, because how could it be when she had all this? But there was still something weighing down in the bottom of her heart, and she was too exhausted to push it away. 

"Fitz," she said, squirming in his embrace, "how long are we going to be like this?"

She could sense the frown that she couldn't see. "Like what?"

"Like we are here," she explained. "Are we just going to get on a plane and go back to who we were?"

"Are we pretending to be something we're not?"

She scoffed at him. "Of course not, but—"

"But?" Fitz sat up, forcing her to do the same. "I don't know what you're going on about."

"This is the perfect holiday, Fitz!" She massaged her temples. "Or was, before Quinn ruined everything."

"Quinn didn't ruin anyth—"

"And then we'll go back to the base, I'm sure it won't be long before we'll have to stop the world from ending once again. There are so many things that can go wrong, Fitz. Even here, when we're supposed to be away from all that. It follows us!"

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. "I thought we agreed that there really isn't a curse."

"Ugh, Fitz! You know what I mean!" She slumped against him, grabbing his arms and draping them over her stomach. "We're SHIELD agents. People are always going to try to pull us apart."

"And," he said into her ear, "I thought we agreed that we wouldn't let it."

She took a deep breath in and out, knowing he could feel it. "We won't."

"Okay, so?"

"But it won't be as easy as it is here! That's what I'm getting at. Are we really going to make it if things are as hard as they've been? If our friends keep dying, and everything is crumbling around us?"

He tightened his arms until he was properly holding her. "Won't it be easier, then? Since we'll have each other?" She felt him take in a big breath. "Besides, we have to make it. We've already got Christmas planned. And . . ." He cleared his throat. "And I've got those names in my head now, so we have to use them for something."

She let out a sigh, unable to shake the image of two chubby children with unruly hair, and the father who matched them. She allowed herself to relax into him.

"Jemma," he said, "I don't go to the other side of the universe for just anybody."

And that, she learned, was enough to break the spell. She sat up and spun around to capture his lips.

"And I don't come all the way back for just anybody."

He dove in this time, giving her a deep kiss and being all too self-satisfied when he pulled back before she was done appreciating it.

"I guess we have it settled, then."

She answered him by fisting his shirt and demanding the rest of the kiss. 

It wasn't until their lips were swollen and they were out of breath that Jemma felt the ache of the day settle in her bones. It was the kind of ache that thrummed a peaceful rhythm in her blood, promising a rest well-earned. She got up to lead Fitz to bed, only to have him pull her back down again.

"Hold on," he said, "the sun is rising."

She followed his gaze to see that the sun was indeed peeking over the horizon, though it wasn't where they saw it last. This time, the golden glow came from behind the beach, bathing the island in light. It was breathtaking, and, for the very first time, she felt certain that there was even more beauty to come. As long as they held on to each other, their future would be filled with it.

"Is it sunrise already?" she teased him, settling into his embrace. "I hardly noticed." 

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to [ruthedotcom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/works) for being my science advisor and beta! Without her, the entire Quinn conversation wouldn't have happened, or would have been awful. 
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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